#gojo brainrot

[sukunastoenailclippings]

And Nanami

[elsietopia]

INTELLIGENCE KINK

⋆˚࿔ SUMMARY - You're the popular girl dating the nerdy physics major and you make him explain black holes while you're bouncing on his dick in the library study room because hearing him talk about quantum mechanics makes you FERAL. He still thinks he's dreaming. she's got an intelligence kink that would make scientists blush.

⚠️ CW: established relationship, semi-public sex, library Sex, intelligence kink, sapiosexuality, dirty talk, praise kink, riding, creampie, she gets off on him being smart, virgin energy despite not being one, glasses kink, opposites attract, MDNI 18+

[COLLEGE AU • Nerd!Gojo x Popular!Reader • Established Relationship • Sapiosexual Awakening • She Gets Off On His Intelligence • Library Study Session Turns X-Rated • "Talk Nerdy To Me" • He's Explaining Quantum Physics While She's Riding Him • Soundproof Study Room Savior • Intelligence Kink Goes Crazy • Black Holes & Orgasms • She Wants Round Two With String Theory • Most Unusual Dirty Talk Ever • His Glasses Stay ON • Smart Is The New Sexy • He Still Can't Believe She Chose Him • She Can't Believe He Doesn't Know How Hot His Brain Is • 18+ MDNI]

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Satoru Gojo was fucked.

Not literally—though if the way you were looking at him across the study table was any indication, that might change soon—but academically, socially, existentially fucked.

Because somehow, through some cosmic joke or glitch in the matrix, he—captain of the math team, physics club president, owner of at least seven Star Wars shirts—was dating you.

You. The most popular girl on campus. Cheer captain. Student body president. The girl who wore designer everything and had a Instagram following that rivaled some actual celebrities. The girl who could have anyone—literally anyone—and had chosen him.

He still wasn't sure how it happened. You'd approached him at a party (that his roommate had dragged him to) asking for help with calculus. He'd assumed it was a joke, some cruel prank, but you'd been serious. So he'd tutored you. And then you'd kissed him. And then you'd asked him out. And now, three months later, he was still half-convinced he'd wake up and discover this was all an elaborate dream.

"Satoru, you're staring," you said, not looking up from your biology textbook. Your perfectly manicured nail—painted baby pink this week—tapped against the page.

"Sorry," he mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose. They were the thick-framed ones you said made him look "hot in that Clark Kent way," which had made him nearly combust the first time you said it. "Just... thinking."

"About what?" Now you did look up, and fuck, you were so pretty it hurt. Even in "casual" clothes—which for you meant a cropped sweater and yoga pants that should be illegal—you looked like you'd stepped out of a magazine.

"Quantum entanglement," he blurted out, because he couldn't exactly say 'about how you're out of my league and I still don't understand why you're with me.'

Your eyes lit up. "Yeah? Tell me about it."

He blinked. "You... want to hear about quantum entanglement?"

"I always want to hear you talk about nerdy stuff." You closed your textbook, giving him your full attention. "It's hot."

His brain short-circuited. "Hot."

"So hot." You leaned forward on your elbows, and his eyes betrayed him by dropping to your cleavage for a split second before he forced them back up. "Come on, baby. Tell me about the quantum thing."

"Um." He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses again—a nervous habit. "Okay, so quantum entanglement is when two particles become correlated in such a way that the quantum state of one particle can't be described independently of the other, even when they're separated by large distances—"

"Keep going," you encouraged, and was it his imagination or did your voice sound... breathier?

"Einstein called it 'spooky action at a distance' because he thought it violated the principle of locality, but experiments have proven that entangled particles really do affect each other instantaneously, which has implications for quantum computing and cryptography—"

You bit your lip.

"—and the interesting thing is that it doesn't allow for faster-than-light communication because the results are still random, but the correlations are perfect, which means—are you okay?"

You had shifted in your seat, pressing your thighs together. "I'm great. Don't stop."

"Stop... talking about physics?"

"Don't stop talking about physics." You stood up, walking around the table. They were in one of the private study rooms in the library—soundproof, lockable, meant for group projects. Suddenly that felt very relevant. "Tell me more."

"More about quantum entanglement?" His voice came out higher than normal as you approached.

"More about anything." You were standing next to his chair now, close enough that he could smell your perfume—something expensive and floral that made his head spin. "I love listening to you talk about smart stuff."

"That's... that's weird, right? That shouldn't be attractive."

"But it is." Your hand came up to his face, fingers tracing the frame of his glasses. "You're so fucking smart, Satoru. Do you know how hot that is? How hot you are?"

"I'm really not—"

"You are." You swung your leg over his lap, straddling him in the chair, and his hands automatically went to your hips. "God, I've been sitting there for an hour trying to study biology when all I can think about is you."

"Me?" His voice cracked embarrassingly.

"You." Your hands slid into his hair—white and perpetually messy despite his best efforts. "My genius boyfriend with his sexy brain and his cute glasses."

"They're not cute, they're corrective lenses—"

You kissed him, swallowing whatever nerdy clarification he was about to make. He melted into it immediately, because no matter how many times you kissed him, it never stopped being overwhelming. You tasted like the strawberry lip gloss you always wore, and you kissed him like you were trying to devour him whole.

"Want you," you breathed against his lips. "Right now."

His brain struggled to process. "Here? In the library?"

"Door locks. Room's soundproof." Your hips rolled against his, and oh fuck, he was already getting hard. "No one will know."

"Someone could need the room—"

"Satoru." You pulled back to look at him, and your pupils were blown wide. "I need you to fuck me while you tell me about science. Can you do that for me?"

His brain completely flatlined. "You... what?"

"I want you inside me." Your hand palmed him through his jeans, and he gasped. "And I want you to keep talking about physics or math or whatever. It turns me on so much when you get all passionate about nerd stuff."

"That's—" He couldn't think straight with your hand on him. "That's definitely weird."

"I don't care." You were already unbuttoning his jeans. "Please, baby? I'll make it so good for you. Just keep being your sexy, smart self."

How was he supposed to say no to that? He couldn't. He was weak. He was a weak, weak man with a hot girlfriend who apparently had some kind of intelligence kink.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay, yeah, we can—we can do that."

You smiled, bright and beautiful, before kissing him again. Your hands made quick work of his jeans and boxers, freeing his cock. He was already fully hard, and when your hand wrapped around him, he had to bite back a moan.

"Don't hold back," you murmured, stroking him slowly. "Want to hear you."

"Someone might—"

"Soundproof, remember?" You lifted up slightly, pushing your yoga pants and underwear down just enough. "Now, tell me something smart while I ride you."

You sank down on him in one smooth motion, and his head fell back with a groan. You were so wet, so tight, so perfect around him. He could never get used to this—to the feeling of being inside you, of you wanting him this much.

"Satoru," you prompted, starting to move. "Talk to me."

"About—fuck—about what?"

"Anything. Tell me about..." You rolled your hips, and his grip on your waist tightened. "Tell me about space."

"Space," he repeated dumbly.

"Come on, baby. I know you know everything about space." You were riding him slowly, torturously. "Tell me about stars or black holes or whatever gets you excited."

He tried to think through the haze of pleasure. "Um. Okay. So—so black holes are regions of spacetime where gravity is so strong that nothing, not even light, can escape from inside the event horizon—"

"Yes," you moaned, moving faster. "Keep going."

"The—the event horizon is the boundary of the black hole, and once you cross it, you'd be stretched by tidal forces in a process called spaghettification—"

"Spaghettification," you repeated, breathless. "That's such a ridiculous word. Tell me more."

"At the center is the singularity, where density becomes infinite and our current understanding of physics breaks down—" His voice broke as you clenched around him. "Fuck, baby—"

"Don't stop," you commanded. "I'm so close. Keep talking."

"There are stellar black holes formed from collapsed stars, and supermassive black holes at the centers of galaxies that can be millions or billions of times the mass of the sun—"

You were moving frantically now, chasing your pleasure, and he was trying so hard to keep talking but it was difficult when you looked like that—head thrown back, cheeks flushed, absolutely gorgeous falling apart on his cock.

"The nearest black hole to Earth is about 1,000 light-years away in the constellation—oh god—in the constellation Telescopium, and we can detect black holes by observing their effects on nearby matter—"

"Satoru," you gasped. "I'm gonna—"

"The accretion disk around a black hole can reach temperatures of millions of degrees and emits X-rays that we can—"

You came with a cry that probably wasn't as muffled as it should be, clenching around him so hard he saw stars. He kept babbling about Hawking radiation and gravitational waves as you rode out your orgasm, because apparently that's what did it for you, and who was he to judge?

"Your turn," you panted, still moving. "Come for me, baby. Tell me something really smart and come inside me."

"The—the information paradox suggests that information that falls into a black hole might not be destroyed but could be preserved in the Hawking radiation, which resolves the apparent contradiction with quantum mechanics and—fuck, I'm—"

He came hard, burying himself deep as pleasure whited out his vision. He probably said something about entropy or quantum field theory, but honestly, he blacked out a little.

When he came back to himself, you were playing with his hair, smiling down at him with that satisfied look that made his heart do stupid things.

"You're so fucking hot," you murmured, kissing him softly.

"I just rambled about black holes while having sex. That's not hot. That's... I don't even know what that is."

"It's hot to me." You kissed his nose, then his cheek, then his lips again. "My smart, sexy boyfriend."

"You're weird," he said, but there was no heat in it.

"You love it."

He did. He really, really did. "We should probably get back to studying."

"Mm, probably." But you didn't move from his lap. "Or..."

"Or?"

"You could tell me about that thing you were reading about last week. The string theory thing."

He stared at you. "You want to go again?"

"I want you to tell me about string theory." Your hips rolled experimentally, and he was alarmed to discover he was already getting hard again. "And then yeah, we're definitely going again."

"You're insatiable."

"Only for you, baby." You grinned. "So? String theory?"

Satoru pushed his glasses up—they'd gotten slightly crooked—and resigned himself to his fate. "Okay, so string theory proposes that the fundamental constituents of the universe are one-dimensional strings rather than point-like particles..."

Your eyes lit up, and he knew he was in for a long study session.

Not that he was complaining.

[ddarker-dreams]

husband rotation / separation anxiety.

chrollo tries to come across as casual in everything he does, but beneath the calm surface lies a cold, calculating mind. there is a purpose behind every word, gesture, and expression; an ultimate end he seeks one small move at a time. he’s given great consideration to the ideal ratio of time spent together and apart. one of chrollo's greatest strengths is his ability to delay gratification. he's not completely delusional, he understands that getting you to come around will be a process, which requires time and patience. this philosophy is why he's better at stomaching time apart better than most yanderes. in his view, it's a necessary evil. he sees the wisdom in the adage 'distance makes the heart grow fonder.' whether you're willing to admit it or not, you've grown accustomed to his presence. his transient lifestyle brings you to foreign lands, places with languages and customs you're unfamiliar with. you have no choice but to depend on him for everything, be it lodging or food. you can pray for his downfall all you want, but there's no hiding the relief that shows on your features when he comes back later than he said he'd be.

gojo is, in a word, insufferable. he'll sigh and bemoan his misfortune whenever he receives word from the higher-ups that a long job is on the horizon. you didn't think it was possible, but his neediness increases exponentially. wherever you are, he isn't far behind, trailing in your shadow like a dejected puppy. the relief you feel when he's finally gone is fleeting, because he's an avid texter. good luck trying to enjoy a book, movie, or game; it's a sisyphean task. you swear he has a sixth sense for when you're most immersed in an activity to begin an onslaught of texts. expect lots of selfies, blurry pictures, and questionable commentary. now, you may be tempted to block him or turn your phone off altogether. it seems like a reasonable solution. while this might net you temporary relief, it's detrimental in the long-term. gojo can handle any insult you send his way, but he does not take kindly to being ignored. he's a relatively permissive yandere in the sense that he doesn't keep you chained in some dark dungeon (despite joking that he could). he expects an explanation whenever you take too long to reply. to keep your relatively unrestricted lifestyle, it's in your best interest to play along, lest the restraints he's alluded to come into play...

mara has somewhat deteriorated blade's ability to conceptualize time. the curse of immortality on a short-life species is devastating. days, weeks, years, decades, everything blurs into an indecipherable mess. how you experience time apart vastly differs. he tries — and is often successful — at blocking out the yearning he experiences for you when separated by millions of light-years. to him, the yearning borders on madness. it's reminiscent of a mara attack. the similarities have him putting up his guard mentally, like an immune system sensing a pathogen. this grants him limited success. he sees you in everything. the beauty of a planet's native flora, music overheard while walking down the street, even the scent of baked goods he's certain you'd enjoy. you are a living ghost, haunting him wherever he goes. he might not assail you with texts or calls, but whenever he has a spare second, his mind inevitably wanders to you. he has to stay busy or he can feel each second that ticks by, stretched and warped to a maddening degree.

scaramouche has an excellent remedy for this issue. he can't miss you if you're never separated — genius, right? he understands that he's not an enjoyable person to be around, but it's not like you can do anything about it. you're a permanent fixture by his side. if he's sent to another nation, you can expect your essential items to be packed come morning and a ship waiting to whisk you off. early on, he held onto shreds of his pride and tried to act like he could do without you, a farce that ended poorly. having you so far away, where any number of problems could unfold, gnawed constantly at his psyche. what if you tried to run? or if you fell ill, without him to oversee your care? mortals are such fragile, ephemeral creatures; there's no one he can trust to monitor you properly aside from himself. for his peace of mind, you must be nearby, he'll accept nothing less. should circumstances see you driven apart, he'll work like a man possessed until you can be reunited.

[chibi-tokki]

when Satoru tells you to turn around mid-make-out session, he does not expect to find you crawling onto the bed on your hands and knees, hand slipped beneath the hem of your panties in an attempt to push them aside.

"What are you doing, angel?" genuine curiosity and concern fill his tone, brow raised at your immediate position switch. "I don't- why?"

You look over your shoulder, brows furrowed and mouth slightly open as if you had just been caught sneaking cookies in the middle of the night and not as if you had just automatically assumed he was going to fuck you like that.

Had he given you that impression?

Satoru was so careful to avoid giving you that idea with gentle touches and slow, loving kisses against your skin, requests whispered against your collarbone and sealed with a soft peck. He wasn't expecting you to assume the position.

"Do you not want-?" your voice is small, dejection evident.

Gojo tilts his head before realising. "Baby, no!"

Your face falls and Satoru scrambles to clarify his intention for the position change.

" I don't want to fuck you like that, well I do but not right now. Actually yes now but not in this second," He scrambles and trips over the words, desperate to assure you it was not whatever you were beginning to think about. "I want to fuck you. Always. In any position but that's not why I asked you to turn around."

You're nodding at his explanation, sinking to your knees and removing the hand from your panties but the confusion still creased your forehead. Gojo feels silly explaining his reason like he’s sixteen again but he needed you to know that’s not what he was expecting.

"I just wanted to take your bra off.”

[cherrysweetink]

fratboy!roomate!gojo x fem!reader

part 1

nsfw, mdni <3

It doesn't happen during a party. Or after one. It's late, just the two of you buzzed on cheap wine and whatever's playing softly from the speaker. Gojo’s sitting on the floor between your legs, half-draped across your thighs like a cat. You're wearing one of his oversized hoodies. Nothing else. He knows. And you know he knows, because his fingers keep trailing higher on your calf, casual but deliberate. And then he looks up at you with those eyes, sharp, icy blue, and framed by lashes that should be illegal. His hair is tousled from running his fingers through it, he always does that when he's nervous. His mouth, pink and soft, pulls into a lazy grin. God, he’s stupid hot. Tall and lean, abs peeking from his loose shirt, veins on his big hands way too visible for your sanity. And when he tilts his head like that, all cocky and easygoing, you forget how to breathe.“You smell like me,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against your thigh. “It’s your hoodie,” you say. But your voice comes out too breathy. Too soft. “Nah,” he mumbles, thumb dragging a line just above your knee. “You smell like me.” Then he sits up straighter, lips just inches from your skin, and says it. “Can I taste you now?”

When you finally say yes, it's not with words. You just let your thighs part a little wider. A glance down at Gojo, where he kneels between your legs like he was made to be there, has you tangling your hand in that snowy hair and tugging, just enough to tell him yes. His breath stutters. His arrogant smile falters, just for a second. Like he wasn’t expecting you to actually give in. But then it's back. That hungry, smug look. “You have no idea,” he says, voice low and rough. He sounds wrecked, “how many times I’ve thought about this.” His breath catches as he pushes the hoodie up, slowly, like he’s unwrapping a present. Groans deep in his throat when he sees you, already warm and wet for him. “Angel, you’re gonna ruin me.”

Gojo is cocky with his mouth, of course he is, but he's also unfairly good with it. He doesn’t go straight for it, either. He teases. Slow, like he's testing how long he can keep you whining and squirming before you beg. Licks lazy circles on your inner thigh. Kisses just beside where you want him most. Smiles when you writhe. You try to glare at him. You really do. But he licks a stripe up your inner thigh and all that comes out is a broken whimper. "Patience, baby,” he whispers, mouth so close it burns. “You want me to take my time, right?” You nod. He raises an eyebrow. “Use your words.” “Please,” you whisper. “Gojo—” “Satoru,” he corrects, eyes half-lidded. “You call me Satoru when I’m between your legs.”

He doesn’t stop until your legs are shaking. Until you’re gasping for air, tugging his hair, babbling his name. “That’s it,” he coos against your skin. “So fuckin’ sweet. Knew you’d taste this good.” You think he’ll stop when you come, but he doesn’t. Not right away. He laps at you lazily, savoring it. Holding your thighs open like he owns them. When he finally pulls back, he wipes his shiny lips with the back of his hand and rests his head on your stomach.

Afterwards, you're limp on the couch, chest still heaving, legs sprawled over his lap. Gojo looks positively ruined. Hair a disaster, cheeks flushed, and eyes blown wide like he’s drunk on you. “Roomie benefits go crazy,” he grins, hand smoothing up and down your bare thigh. You go to smack at his chest. He just catches your wrist and presses a soft kiss to your palm. “Don’t get an ego-boost,” you murmur. “Too late,” he giggles. “You let me put my face in your pussy, there’s no going back.” You groan. "I hate you."

And after that? He’s insatiable. He’s on you all the time now. In the hallway. On the couch. In the kitchen when you’re just trying to make toast. “C’mon, angel." he murmurs, cornering you against the fridge “Just a little taste. Just one kiss.” His hand slips under your shirt. Finds your waist. Your heart hammers in your chest. "We just did this last night!" You hiss. “What can I say?" he smirks. “I’m a hungry guy.”

He’s definitely still a frat boy. Still loud, still annoying, still leaves empty Gatorade bottles everywhere. But he doesn't bring girls home anymore.He doesn’t even look at other girls anymore. Not at parties, not even when they slide into his DMs with mirror selfies and fake homework questions. Gojo Satoru, the same man who used to flirt with the barista just to get an extra shot of espresso, is now very visibly obsessed with you. People notice. They whisper. “Isn’t that Gojo’s hoodie she’s wearing?” “I thought he never hooked up with the same girl twice—” He just grins. Big, obnoxious, displaying all his perfect teeth. But this time, it’s different. There’s a certain pride behind it. Almost like possessiveness. He looks over at you, leans in close enough to kiss your jaw, and says it without blinking. "She's my girl." And later that night, when he’s got his hand wrapped around your throat in the dark, hips grinding slow against yours, whispering, “Say it. Tell me who you belong to." “You.” His breath stutters. His grip tightens. “Damn right.”

dividers by @thecutestgrotto @cafekitsune

[pimpcessdiary]

“Perfect you two. Just like that, keep that pose.”

Satoru giggled as he pressed his chest against yours. His pink lips against your cheek smudging the lipgloss that he was wearing.

“Love please stay professional. We are in the middle of a shoot.”

You had to gently push his face away with a chuckle. In return all to got was a whine as his arms wrapped around your neck.

“Oh cmon, I’m not doing anything.”

You rolled your eyes at your fiancé’s behavior. Shooing him off so you could finish up your shoot. Each pose you did just proved why you were the best in the industry. Satoru was staring at you without even realizing. A small smile on his face. You were so gorgeous to him. He took in each dip and curve of your body. The small tattoo of his name on your wrist always made his heart flutter.

“You’re so pretty.”

“Hm?”

How did he get so lucky to have someone like you? The way you held yourself up was just so different than the people who basically worshiped him. You turned to look at him and once your eyes connected his heart jumped. The heat rushed to his face and his ears turned red as you two looked at each other. He rushed out of his seat and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you so much.”

He mumbled into your neck, gently intertwining your fingers.

“Oh Toru, I love you too.”

The shine from your grill peaked out as you gave him a smile. You took the opportunity to let him sit on your lap. He brought his lips back to your cheek, his makeup spreading on you. His eyes were just so soft and full of adoration the longer he sat with you.

The photographers took that opportunity to capture the sweet photo of the two of you. Just weeks later when you got the magazine there stood you and Satoru, looking just as in love as you were when you first started dating..💭🎀

[justrustandstardust]

how can people say stsg isn’t canon when actual official art shows gojo about to gleefully slap geto’s cheeks so hard he sends him flying into space

[warpedbeautyy]

Ijichi is wayyyy better than me, at least insult him back omg 😭